


The Story of Your Life

by shinysparks



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Attempting to write a serious fic with a crackship, Cannot unsee, Crack, F/M, Guy knocks up Kate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinysparks/pseuds/shinysparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adaption to forest life had been going well for Guy of Gisborne... at least until a serious lapse in judgment in a moment of passion caused him to do the unthinkable: have sex with Kate Potter. Now, with a baby on the way, he and Kate must not only learn to be parents and raise a child in the forest, but also to tolerate each other for more than five seconds...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro: Or how this dumb shit began

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** First of all, many thanks to thymelady for being my beta! ♥ I should also mention that Guy and Kate's sexy times are entirely consensual and both are perfectly sober (though, I can't say I can rule out temporary insanity, however. ;))
> 
> Also, this fic is written from alternating points of view - some chapters belong to Guy, others to Kate, and they often leave snotty messages to each other in brackets. ;)

  
From the moment I first laid eyes upon Kate Potter, I wanted to kill her.

Badly.

I shall speak no lies here, nor shall I hold anything back; therefore, I will honestly admit that I wanted to strangle that screaming banshee until her eyes popped out of their sockets, then throw her down, kick her a few times before pulling out my sword and stabbing her her repeatedly. Unfortunately, upon our first meeting, I was feeling rather kind and decided to just have her flogged instead. That was my first big mistake. I should've just gone with my first plan of strangling, eye-popping, kicking and stabbing (or at least saw to the flogging myself - THAT might've been fun, actually...) But anyway, Kate managed to break away from my guards (OF COURSE, inept little shits that they are,) ran away and tried to save her brother, Matthew (whom I was selling to these two Irish guys, McDumb and McDumber - no, that's not their real names, but I honestly cannot remember them at the moment; nor is it really important, anyway. But yes, I was selling Matthew along with the rest of the men and boys in Locksley village because the Sheriff of Nottingham and I had to raise money to keep Prince John from turning us into eunuchs or boiling us in oil or whatever the hell that little wanker does to people he's mad at.)

What? I'm a recovering villain, for crying out loud. Bad guys do that stuff.

Anyway, at some point in Kate's oh-so-daring rescue, her dumbass brother decided to charge me with a sword. Truth be told, I'd spent the majority of my afternoon down at the Trip Inn, guzzling down goblet after goblet of their cheapest wine. I was completely wasted and wasn't thinking too clearly at that particular moment. If I had been, I might've decided to let the stupid boy live. Instead, I ran him through with my sword and MADE THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF MY ENTIRE LIFE - a mistake that has damned me to a life of eternal torment. Hellfire? Brimstone? Horned man in the red pajamas, poking people with a pitchfork? Child's play, I tell you. Hell has nothing on Kate Potter and her incessant nagging.

You killed my brother. You killed my brother. YOU KILLED MY BROTHER.

I am haunted by those four words, and the screetchy, harpy-like voice that delivers them to me at least twenty seven times per day. I hear them in the morning when I first wake up, I hear them in the forest when I'm trying to take a piss, I hear them at breakfast when I'm gobbling down my eggs, I hear them when I'm chopping firewood and fetching water; I hear them at lunch, I hear them during our ambushes of rich nobles, I hear them at dinner and right before bed. I even hear them in my dreams, as my unconscious mind repeats those four dreaded words over and over and over all night long. And then, when I wake from those annoying dreams, I still hear the words, because that blasted banshee talks in her sleep!

When I'm not hearing about how I killed her brother, she takes it upon herself to tell me everything there was to know about dear Matthew Potter. He had auburn hair, blue eyes and fair skin; medium height, skinny, wet the bed until he was eleven (okay, I do empathize with him there,) liked to play with dolls, loved sour apples and couldn't throw pottery to save his life. He couldn't fight, couldn't shoot and could barely even lift a sword, much less wield one, and was the only male within all of Nottinghamshire who could tolerate Kate's presence for more than five seconds. I have no doubt in my mind that he would've one day grown up to be her husband because of this, and they would've lived happily ever after with a bunch of screechy little kids who had arms growing out of their foreheads. That is, had I not come along, killed him and strangely enough, took his place in the marriage bed...

Hmm... It seems I'm getting a little ahead of myself here.

I am writing this to you, my son, so you will know the truth of how you came to be brought into this world (and why your limbs are all in their proper place - no inbreeding on my side of the family.) We all deserve to know our origins, and yours... well, your origins are a bit crazier than most. One could even argue miraculous, and miracles deserve to be written down and shared ["Oh, shut up, Kate. You know as well as I do that after a lifetime of having us as parents, the poor boy is _already_ traumatized - this probably won't even faze him in the slightest! Don't you give me that look you...you... sexy... oh my... lower... LOWER! YES! YES!"]

Ahem... Sorry, where was I? Right. Origins. Miracles. Sharing ["I can't concentrate with you doing that, Kate... gosh, your hands are cold... What? Of course I want it, it's just... Alright, hold on..."]

Oh, sod it all. This is the story of your life, my boy...

* * *

  


[next chapter »](http://shinysparks.livejournal.com/64318.html#cutid1)

  



	2. One: How I met your father

Sweetums, don't listen to a thing your father tells you, because he's full of bullshit. Well, except for the part where he killed my brother - that part is true, of course. However, he is TOTALLY over-exaggerating on the nagging. I do not nag him like that. I _do_ remind him that he killed my brother, but I only do so once a day and only to keep him on the straight and narrow. He once was the bad guy, and takes to evil like a fish to water. Sometimes, he needs a little positive reinforcement - a simple reminder of past deeds, a gentle nudge, a loving slap upside the head with a heavy stick... that kind of thing. It works like a charm and everyone gets to keep their tongues.

And I haven't the faintest idea what he means about my voice being screechy. Nothing could be further from the truth. My voice is sweet-sounding and melodic, thank you very much. It's lovely - like birdsong...

But, I digress...

When your father fled into Sherwood, he was a broken man. After years upon years of working hard, being evil was finally starting to pay off for him. Not long after he killed my dear, sweet, baby brother, the Sheriff of Nottingham - a vile, little toad named Vasey... or is it Vaysey? Or maybe even Vaisey? Vaizey? Daisy?

_♪ Vaizey, Vaizey, give me your answer do!  
I'm half crazy, all for the love of you!  
It won't be a stylish marriage,  
I can't afford a carriage... ♪_

Ahem. Sorry. We'll just call him "Vasey." Less letters to write. Anyway, Sheriff Vasey decided to send Guy to Prince John, to explain why they couldn't pay him the money they owed - it was a suicide mission, basically. You see, Guy and the Sheriff had been sent to the Holy Land to personally kill King Richard, in order to clear the way for Prince John to become king. Fortunately, they failed miserably. Despite being a bit of a murder machine with the peasantry, Guy is just plain incompetent when it comes to political assassinations. I mean, he can ram his sword into an innocent, sweet and lovely teenage boy, but when it comes to a king, he pisses his pants? Honestly!

[YOU KILLED MY BROTHER! Oh, don't you dare roll your eyes at me, Guy! This is just your daily reminder!]

The first time he tried to kill King Richard, Robin was there to foil the assassination. He gave Guy a boo-boo on his arm, and Guy ran off crying like the whiny little git that he is - or something like that. The second time, Lady Marian - the love of Guy's life - stood between Guy and the King. I think she was hoping to put an end to Guy's vile ways once and for all; and so, she told him the truth: she never loved him, she manipulated him and she was going to marry Robin Hood. Now personally, I find that a good thwack upside the head with a heavy object tends to be a bit more efficient on tall, dark and stabby than ripping his heart out and stomping it repeatedly into the desert sands. But, to each, her own, I guess...

It didn't end well for Lady Marian. Guy tried to take her in manly fashion right then and there. Unfortunately, the desert heat mixed with the villainous attire he was wearing - oh lord, don't even get me started on his costume of villainy! Skin-tight, black leather everything, silver wolf's head clasps on his jacket, an unfortunate mullet hairdo that was dyed black with indigo, black eyeliner and these wonky-looking sideburns that were shaped like his curvy dagger. Talk about overcompensation! [Oh please, Guy: you looked like you were dressed up to go to a costume party, and wearing the same thing every day, plus all that tight leather, made you smell EXACTLY like a horse. I'm just saying... And besides, what sort of moron travels to one of the hottest places in the world wearing the hottest clothing ever? I mean, really!] Anyway, the boiling desert heat began to affect his brain, tiny as it is. I'd like to think that in his mind, Guy whipped out his fleshy "sword" and thrust it into her as hard as he could; that he really didn't _intend_ to hurt her (the sudden deflowering notwithstanding.) He was just being a big cry-baby and throwing a tantrum because he didn't get his way.

Instead of sexy times, though, Guy got his "swords" mixed up. The fleshy sword - well, it's more like a dagger, really, and a small one at that... [OW! Pull my hair again, pea-brain, and your "dagger" is going to get a LOT smaller! I mean it!] Anyway, as I was saying, his fleshy sword/dagger/whatever stayed firmly tucked in his oh-so-tight leather trousers, while his sharp, metal longsword went right through Lady Marian.

Yeah. Oops.

Lady Marian croaked, Guy ran off crying like a baby, King Richard lived - altogether, it was just a really bad, really pointless trip to the Holy Land (I don't even know why they went, or how they even forgot about leaving a bunch of mercenaries behind in Nottingham! It's a miracle they had a home to come home to! Morons, I swear...) And when Guy returned, well, he was an utter mess. He began to drink, and drink, and drink, and drink, and drink. He'd started off with the good stuff, and eventually worked his way down to the Trip Inn's cheapest wine. To be honest, I'm not really sure that stuff is intended for human consumption. It's great for stripping paint, starting fires, eating holes through the table - that kind of thing. It's probably a miracle that Guy actually survived drinking it, at least without it burning holes through his insides or making him go blind...

That said, those months Guy spent in a drunken stupor were some of the best months we in Locksley village had had in YEARS. [What?! It's true! You should've started drinking _AGES_ ago, Guy...] He was generally quiet and stayed in the manor house most of the time, leaving us free to romp outside without fear of retribution. He was out of it so much, in fact, that me and some of the other girls around the village used to break into the manor at night, steal his uneaten dinner and then braid his hair - at least until he stopped washing it. After that, we were afraid to even touch it, scared we'd wind up catching his lice or something. [Don't look at me like that! You swore to speak no lies; therefore, I'm not, either. I was afraid of your head bugs. There. I said it. And don't even try to deny it - I saw the critters myself! Big as crickets, I swear!] And even when he did catch us doing something wrong, he usually passed out before he was able to pass judgment - well, except for when the Sheriff forced him to actually do something besides drink. You know, like work? Doing things besides drinking made Guy cranky, and that's how my poor brother ended up getting killed. 

[THAT IS NOT A REMINDER! It's part of the story. Shut up.]

Eventually, he became so UTTERLY useless to the Sheriff that he sent Guy to London, to explain to Prince John about their failure in the Holy Land, why they couldn't pay their taxes and why they were such annoying little gits. In other words: suicide mission. I'm not sure what happened when Guy arrived in London. He doesn't really talk about it, well, except in his sleep. At night, I hear him moaning things like, "No sire... please... I can't take anymore... My bottom is so sore!" I'm assuming he got flogged. Or something. Or, at least, I _hope_ he just got flogged. I mean, I've heard rumors about King Richard, and how he fancies men. If Prince John is the same way... well, the only way in is through the back door and... yeah. Ouch.

[Guy, why do you look so pale all of a sudden?]

Anyway, Guy finally showed back up in Nottingham a few weeks later, looking better than he had in ages. Apparently, the Prince made him take a bath, which improved his stench ten-fold. He even washed his hair and got rid of the lice. And by some miracle, he had even stopped drinking. Instead of the incompentent drunkard of a master we'd come to know and love, we were once again stuck with an irate and determined one who liked to yell a lot and torment us for shits and giggles. In other words, as soon as Guy came back from London, Locksley's happy days were suddenly over.

And that's when Auntie Isabella showed up out of nowhere.

I understand that younger siblings can often be a trial. I often went through rough times with my own siblings - or at least I did until Guy killed my brother. [Again, it's PART OF THE STORY. And just so you know, Guy, if you keep making that face, it might stick like that...] However, I've come to realize that with Gisbornes, even the simplest of problems turn into epic (and often psychotic,) disasters. It's something in their blood, I think. Take your Uncle Archer, for example. He wasn't even raised around the other two, and he's just as screwed up as they are. And yes, Sweetums: I do realize that you are technically a Gisborne as well, and for that, I deeply apologize. Whatever odd little hang-ups you have is not your fault. It's your father's fault. Remember that. There's no crazy on my side of the family...

When Isabella was thirteen, your father sold her in marriage to an evil man named Squire Thornton - I'm not really sure if his name is "Squire," or if that is just his title. What is it with people naming their children after job descriptions?! Archer, Squire, your father being named "Guy" just because he is one... Honestly. It's just ridiculous. But, anyway, Isabella and Thornton got married, she didn't like him, he was a jerk and after seventeen years of misery, she ran away to find her dear brother, whom she hoped would come to her aid and apologize to her for selling her into marriage...

Yeah. Guy? Apologize? Don't hold your breath, Izzy...

Instead, Guy blamed her for not making the best of her situation. Needless to say, this made Isabella quite irate. And when Prince John himself showed up in Nottingham, Guy and Isabella started acting like children, with one trying to outdo the other and win the Prince's affections. They argued and fought and Guy ended up getting tied to a tree...again. He's quite good at that, actually. This time, though, he got loose fairly quickly - Robin and Isabella must not have done it right. He doesn't get loose when I do it, after all. Sure, he does fight hard against the ropes, but I'm still able to strip off all of his clothes and tickle his nether regions with a feather. Oh, how I love to watch that man squirm and blush and plead for mercy...

[ _Traumatized already_ , you said. _Won't faze him at all_ , you said.]

Guy eventually became the Sheriff of Nottingham - land, title, everything he wanted - then Isabella blew it for him within ten minutes. The Prince sacked him, and Guy had a bit of a tantrum over it. He actually attacked the Prince with his sword! [Yeah, that was _SO_ going to get you your job back, doofus.] Later on, Guy stole his crown and tried to assassinate him with a crossbow - only to ended up shooting Isabella instead. See what I mean about him being just _completely_ incompetent with assassinations? Ten stinking feet from the Prince and he still missed. Useless! I swear...

Still, something tells me he probably enjoyed shooting Isabella, though...

It didn't really help him in the long run, though - he ended up getting captured and locked in a cage. Unfortunately, they left him fully clothed, so it wasn't quite as tortuous as it could've been. Naked would've been better (and a lot more fun to look at!) [Guy?! Don't you walk away when I'm talking about you!] Anyway, the Prince made Isabella the Sheriff instead, and for her first order of business, she tried to have Guy beheaded. She almost succeeded, too. But, he escaped, vowed to kill her...revenge, murder, la-di-da-di-da. In other words, typical Gisborne behavior.

Guy had no choice but to run off into the forest and become an outlaw.

We spied on him quite a lot that first week. Well, strictly speaking, we were going to attack him, strip him naked and tie him to a tree and let Robin have his way with him [boy, that came out a bit wrong, didn't it, Guy? Guy?! Where are you going? What?! But you just took a dump an hour ago! What do you mean my presence "gives you the shits?" AND NO YOU CANNOT HAVE ANY OF MY NICE, SOFT LEAVES - GO FIND YOUR OWN, STUPID HEAD!] Anyhow, Guy was so pitiful and _COMPLETELY_ inept we couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. Allan, being your father's former manservant, began leaving bits of food and drink nearby for Guy to find, and even an old bow and a quiver full of arrows so he could hunt his own food. It was sweet, really. 

Me? I hid in the bushes and threw pebbles and acorns at him. What? It was fun! And it drove him NUTS! After three days, he practically jumped out of his skin at every little noise! It was a suitable start of my revenge for him KILLING MY BROTHER!

[THAT WAS NOT A REMINDER, IT WAS... oh wait, you're still pooping. Never mind, then...]

Not long after that, both he and Robin were completely knocked out by a strange man who shot sleep darts at them with some new-fangled weapon that no one had ever seen before called a "blow-gun." And sleep darts? Honestly! Oh sure, a little valerian extract, maybe a little chamomile or catnip might knock someone out eventually, but these darts were more potent than anything I'd ever seen or slipped into your father's drink when he's being hateful (or when I just want to strip him nude, tie him up in strange places and touch him inappropriately.) It turned out that the strange man was Robin's long lost and supposedly dead father, Sir Malcolm, who could not live with his past shame. Therefore, he ran off like a whiny little bitch, leaving Robin all alone and Guy to live with the thought that he'd been responsible for murdering his own parents.

Yeah. Defintely not quite "Father of the Year" material there.

To make the situation even more complicated and screwed up, Sir Malcolm told them they shared a brother, Archer. This, of course, came as a total shock and made all that snogging Robin did with Auntie Isabella ridiculously awkward. He also told them Archer was due to be executed in York, and because of that, Robin and Guy called a truce on their whole "I will kill you" thing and ran off to York to save the day. Turns out, Archer was shagging the Sheriff of York's wife, things got complicated rather quickly and we ended up having to save _them_ , as the three of them nearly got themselves hanged. 

[Oh, you're back. Everything come out alright, Guy? What? Oh, I'm just telling him about how we rescued Archer in York? Hey, don't give me that look! Of course I didn't tell him how you pissed all over yourself when you thought we weren't going to rescue you from the noose! That's our little secret, of course... Heh.]

Archer ran off after the oh-so-brilliant rescue (ours, not theirs,) to seek out his rich and powerful sister because he's a pain in the ass like that, and we got landed with a smelly, washed up, revenge-driven ex-villain who had nowhere else to go...

In hindsight, we should've just gotten a puppy instead. They're sweeter, cuter and much easier to house train...

[GIVE THE BOOK BACK, GUY! I'M NOT FINISHED TELLING THE STORY OF HOW WE MET! WHAT? OF COURSE IT'S IMPORTANT! OUR SWEETUMS NEEDS TO UNDERSTAND THE ROOTS OF OUR RELATIONSHIP... OH! DON'T YOU DARE MOON ME, MISTER! JUST FOR THAT, NO MONDAY NIGHT NOOKIE! I DON'T CARE IF IT'S ROLE-PLAYING NIGHT AND YOUR REAR IS OH-SO-SEXY! YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO GO CHURN THE BUTTER BY YOURSELF!

...

No, Guy, we're not out of butter again... It means... you know what, never mind. Just go write your chapter, pea-brain...]


	3. TWO: That fateful morning

It was another typical morning in Sherwood.

I yawned loudly as I slowly opened my eyes, squinting and groaning at the sunlight poking through the trees before I was greeted to a loud cacophony of outlaw farts. I sighed heavily, remembering that our hunting and fishing the afternoon before had not gone well, and we'd been once again forced to feast on boiled eggs and beans (on the bright side, at least there had been quite a lot of beer to wash it down with.) Although it was not quite the meal I had hoped for, I was quite thankful for it. I'm sure the other outlaws were waiting for me to complain and whine and carry on, given the life I’d been accustomed to; however, only two weeks prior, I had been forced to feast upon maggoty bread while awaiting my execution. And when I was much younger, I survived on much, much worse...

Hearing a long, drawn out squeak, I quickly pinched my nose shut, hoping to escape the onslaught of stink coming from Kate. Despite being a woman, she could easily out poot the rest of us, and the smell was as if some sort of wild animal had crawled up her arse and died a long, long time ago. I often wondered if plugging up her rear with a cork might ease some of the gaseous torment, but the thought of the installation sickened me (and gave me flashbacks, but I really don't want to talk about that, thank-you-very-much.)

[Don't look at me like that, Stinky. You honest-to-god fart like a man. I’m not being funny...]

As a gentle breeze rattled the leaves on the trees and blew away Kate's noxious fumes, I took a deep breath before yawning again. Not far from me, I could hear the stirring of the other outlaws: Much trying to start a cooking fire; Little John complaining that mornings, he does not like; Tuck praying; Robin relieving himself in a chamberpot; Kate asking what's for breakfast (I quickly said my own prayer, hoping it would not be eggs;) and Allan moaning sensually beside me.

Right. I should mention that in my two weeks in the forest, I had, after some initial reluctance, been treated like any of the other outlaws - so much, in fact, that I had even been presented with my own outlaw tag, making me a permanent member of Robin Hood's gang. However, the one thing I had yet to receive was a bunk of my own. Instead, I had been forced to share a bed with my former manservant, Allan A'Dale. I thought little of it, at first. Having been a soldier, I have shared close quarters with other men before. However, none of those men had been like Allan. During my first night in the camp, I quickly learned two things about Allan that I never knew before: one, he talks in his sleep, and two, he has recurring sex dreams that he often tries to act out.

Needless to say, my nights have become incredibly awkward.

I let out a low growl as I felt Allan, who was still fast asleep, slide his hand sneakily into my britches. As he leaned over, called me "Ethel," told me to call him "Sir Hotpants" and then instructed me to beg for mercy, I shoved him out of our bunk as quickly and as roughly as I could.

"A clue: no." I told him in the best feminine voice I could muster. I then smirked at my own sarcasm, watching his groaning, now awake form begin to stir from the forest floor. Two weeks ago, might've ran him through with my sword for such unusual touchy-feeliness, but now? A simple shove would suffice. I'd grown, really.

I sat up in bed quickly, once again forgetting that the bunks in the outlaw's camp were a bit too cramped for a man of my height. "MERDE!" I hollered, rubbing the bump on my forehead furiously as I slowly scooted out of the bunk, taking care not to step on Allan (who was still lying on the ground, moaning about Ethel.) I groaned, pushing myself on my feet and quickly deciding that I shared Little John's sentiment: mornings, I do not like. I then plodded over to the large wooden bucket where we kept our drinking water.

"We're out of water." I noted, my voice deep and scratchy as I stared into the empty bucket.

"Kate just finished it off." Robin replied, lacing up his britches while I leered over at Kate evilly. "We'll have to send someone to fetch more."

"It's Tuesday, right? So, it's John's turn to fetch the water." I said, looking over at Little John, who was still lying in his bunk.

"John can't do it." Allan piped in, yawning heavily. "He threw his back out while milking the lizard."

Robin, Kate and Allan snorted with laughter, while Little John folded his arms and looked away.

"Milking a lizard?" I asked, no doubt looking rather confused. "How can you throw your back out milking a lizard? They're only yea-big!"

I held up my hand and pinched my fingers together, showing them exactly how small a lizard really is. Only Much nodded to agree with me. The rest - even Little John - burst out in laughter.

"And lizard milk?! That's disgusting." I continued. "Do we really _need_ lizard milk? If it doesn't come from a cow, I, for one, am not drinking it."

The outlaws roared - except for Much, who was standing behind them all nodding furiously and mouthing the words "I know, right?!" Even Tuck stopped his prayer, trying hard to stifle his laughter as he walked over and gently patted me on the back. I sighed heavily. Something told me I was missing out on some joke.

[And there you go, laughing again! WHAT IS SO DAMNED FUNNY, KATE?! What?! You're kidding, right? That's what "milking the lizard" means?! So, you mean I... er... you know what? Never mind. Moving along...]

"Fine." I huffed, grabbing the water bucket. "I'll go fetch our water then."

"Oh, no you don't!" Kate suddenly snarled at me, blocking my path out of the camp.

"What now?" I groaned, eyeing her with much annoyance.

"I don't trust you." She told me, folding her arms and staring me down sternly. "How do we know that once you leave here, you won't run straight for Isabella?"

"Because I want to kill her?" I told her, rolling my eyes.

"But, she's your sister!" Kate screetched. "Surely, there is some sort of family loyalty in there somewhere!"

I thought about that for a moment, thinking about the past and how I'd been saddled with my oh-so-annoying little sister after my parents died. I struggled and sacrificed so much to keep the whiny wench fed, clothed and relatively safe, and yet, it was still not enough for her. And then, not long after she turned thirteen, Isabella turned into this horrible snarling beast-girl once a month. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but it was horrible. She cried and cried and cried and when she wasn't crying, she was screaming at me for one thing or another - like breathing, for example. After about three months of such inhuman torture, I realized there was only one recourse... [No, Kate. I did not try to kill her. I was only eighteen at the time. This was way before I started maiming random people for fun and profit. Don't you dare give me that look! Recovering villain, remember?] ...I had to marry little miss crabby off to the first sucker I could find. Lucky for me, the first sucker I found was rich beyond our wildest dreams and paid me a fairly nice sum for Isabella's hand in marriage. It was perfect, really: my little sister would be taken care of and want for nothing, and I was finally rid of the filthy little leech. Even better: I had money! It was the best day ever.

OF COURSE, she blew it. Apparently, she decided that she really didn't like her sucker of a husband and thought we would've been better off staying in our little corner of France, starving and/or freezing to death. She ran away from her home, found me and then decided I should apologize to her for making her life wonderful! It was UNBELIEVABLE! Of course I wouldn't. It's not my fault she screwed everything up. Rather than just admit that I was right, Isabella got angry and decided to ruin my life in vengeance. And then she tried to behead me! Stupid crazy wench! I should've just drowned her in the pond when she was small and been done with it.

[Read my lips, Kate: RECOVERING VILLAIN. I haven't murdered anyone in at _least_ a whole fortnight. Shut up.]

"Not particularly, no." I replied to Kate, still mulling over my troublesome past with my baby sister in my head. "I am going to kill her. End of discussion."

"Well," Kate said, folding her arms and staring me down dangerously, "I suppose it's easy to kill you own sister after YOU KILLED MY BRO---"

"NO!" I bellowed, pushing past her and heading for the exit. "It is far to early in the morning to have to listen to more pathetic tales about perfect little Matthew Potter!"

"Show a little respect, Gisborne." Tuck scolded, giving me his usual you're-going-to-burn-in-hell-for-all-eternity-because-you're-an-evil-git stare. I'm not really sure the priest liked me very much. "You did murder the boy, after all."

"He charged me with a sword!" I shot back. It came out a bit whiny. "So, I charged him back with my own sword and even sloppy drunk, my aim was a lot better than that whiny little bed-wetter's was..."

"Speaking of bed-wetters," Robin piped up, grinning from ear to ear, "Isabella told me a funny story about you..."

I stared back at him in shock and horror, before pointing my finger at him sternly. He would not go there. Ever.

"Quiet, Bobbin." I growled, using his most hated nickname.

He smirked back at me. "Whatever you say, Tinkles."

The outlaws burst out laughing. "Twelve years old!" I heard Little John mutter as they chuckled some more. I groaned. They had already been told my dirty little secret. As a made a quick mental note to torture Isabella repeatedly with sharp, pointy objects for telling such an embarrasing part of my past to Robin - my worst enemy at the time - I happened to notice that just like before, Much had not joined in the revelry. Instead, he hung his head, blushing slightly. I sighed heavily, looked over at him and mouthed the words, "you, too?" Much nodded sadly, pointed at himself and whispered one word: "fifteen." I frowned. Much was a bit annoying, and I still don't think he trusted me fully; however, in that moment, I felt something... unusual for him. Like I knew what it felt like to be in someone else's shoes, to understand their humiliation, because I had shared it myself.

I quickly shook the strange feeling off. It was probably just gas, or something. Eggs and beans for dinner, after all. I then turned and gazed hatefully at the rest of the outlaws, who were still cackling over my unfortunate bed-wetting phase.

"Well, I'm not going to stand here and take this." I growled, turning and heading for the door. However, Kate grabbed my arm to stop me. I looked down at her hand on my arm, and then stared her in the eyes as evilly as I could. To my surprise, she stared right back, refusing to break eye contact with me. It was quite... unnerving, and defintely something I was not used to. Most women, after all, tended to cower and tremble in my presence. Not so with Kate.

"You are _not_ going alone." She told me defiantly.

"Oh, really?" I replied, scoffing.

"Yes, really." She said, nodding and still staring me down.

"And what if I take off running? Think you can catch me with your scrawny little chicken legs?" I spat, cracking a grin.

" _Pfft._ It'll be a little hard to run with an arrow sticking out of your arse, won't it?" Kate responded, letting go and folding her arms.

"You would shoot me?!" I said, well aware that my mouth had dropped open. Kate sneered at me dangerously, still refusing to break eye contact. Actually, I'm not really sure she'd even blinked in the whole time we'd been having our _colorful_ discussion, which, of course, only proved that she was some sort of freak of nature. Or maybe not even human. Perhaps a banshee - or even a kelpie? I'd heard those demons could take the shape of beautiful, alluring women in order to lure unsuspecting men to their doom.

[Why the surprise, Kate? I mean, you're not ugly, though I'll admit that I often wonder if that's really your true hair color... WHAT?! Alright, if I wake up one morning with blonde hair, I WILL KILL YOU SO HARD! I'm not being funny. And yes, Allan, I stole your line. Bite me.]

"I'm just looking for a reason, Tinkles." She said, before taking her finger and poking me in the chest several times. I broke eye contact with her, and looked down at my chest, watching her poke me. Then I gave her the evilest look I could muster. "Revenge. Sweet revenge and all that."

Oh God, I wanted to kill her. Right then, right there. I want to ram my sword into her as hard as I could and send her off to meet her blasted bed-wetting brother Matthew. After all, I'd killed grown men for less insolence, and especially if they wished to do me harm. Or annoyed me. Or looked at me the wrong way. Or, you know, breathed too loudly. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: RECOVERING VILLAIN. Bad guys do that stuff.

But Kate... she was something else. Normally, I could repress my homicidal urges quite effectively, but Kate could always bring them to the surface with almost no effort. All of those screetchy-sounding accusations about how I'm untrustworthy, how I'm evil, how I KILLED HER BROTHER just send me into a fury, and suddenly, I want to wring her scrawny neck. And then stab her, repeatedly.

I continued to stare her into the eyes, desperately wishing she would look away. It was really becoming quite bothersome, as if she was trying to exert dominance over me. Normally, I would laugh that off - a silly young peasant girl trying to be the dominant one? That was really hilarious. However, it was different with Kate. She radiated anger and defiance to the point she seemed unmovable, and the longer I stared into her bright blue eyes, I noticed that in addition to those traits, she was missing something else: fear. That was mind-boggling, really. Most people are terrified of me, thanks to my villainous past; however, Kate was simply not frightened of me at all.

 _Look away._ I thought to myself, almost pleading with her. _Look away first, Kate._

The more I thought over her defiance and fearlessness and her attempt at dominance over me, I became aware of something else going on... in my pants. My evil stare quickly changed into that of shock, and then embarrassment. This was turning me on - WHY WAS THIS TURNING ME ON?! It was absolutely insane. Granted, I had always been taken with the defiant ones: Marian, Meg, even that servant girl Alice or Adelaide or whatever the hell her name was, but this was different. This was Kate Potter. Little miss screechy. There is no way I could ever be attracted to _that_. Ever.

I sighed heavily while trying to divert my thoughts elsewhere and hoping to quell the rising tickle in my britches and the butterflies flitting around in my stomach. I quickly reminded myself I'd been living in the forest for the past two weeks with zero privacy and zero sexy alone time (and no, I don't count being felt up by Allan every night as sexy alone time, thank you very much.) I was just merely frustrated and horny and Kate was the only woman for miles. I wasn't attracted to her at all, really. She was just there.

That said, it still wasn't helping me calm down...

"Fine." I finally bellowed, rolling my eyes and breaking eye contact with her. I dropped the water bucket to the ground, plodded over and picked up the communal chamberpot, which was nearly full. I carried it back over to Kate and thrust it into her arms (some of the rancid contents spilled onto her boot, which caused me to grin evilly.) 

"If you're determined to come," I told her, quickly regretting my choice of words as the tickle in my pants became much stronger. "You can at least make yourself useful."

I picked up the water bucket and shuffled out of the Outlaw's Camp, knowing full well that Kate would soon be on my heels...


End file.
